


Fall of a Thousand

by hyuckieberry (95pjm)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Dramatic Romance, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Kissing, M/M, Metaphors, Sharing a Bed, Teen Romance, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 05:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15332814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/95pjm/pseuds/hyuckieberry
Summary: Growing up, Mark has only ever known of one constant in his life, Donghyuck.Whether that's meant to be a good or bad thing however, is a decision resting on fate itself.





	Fall of a Thousand

**Author's Note:**

> so i have been writing this for a couple of months now, it's an idea i got hooked on ever since i started to ship markhyuck :') i hope you all enjoy it, it has all my thoughts and love poured into it ;;;   
>  ****
> 
> **
>   * **please note this is not set in modern times!**
>   * **there are fight scenes but they're vague, do let me know if i should still add it (and anything else) in the tags however!**
> ** 


 

_The prophecy divines, how the kingdom shall hail their prince a hero, bringing his people nothing but fortune once he comes of age. But do be warn. For the realm might just collapse into grit and gravel instead, should he be lured and defeated by a monster made from ruby, ivory and gold._

\- 4205 -

 

Mark’s seven when he enters the room holding the throne his father and mother perch on, a smile plastered by his mother that doesn’t reach her eyes and an aura from his father, colder than the winter’s night sky. He walks towards them as he has been taught, by the scholars and mentors alike.

Graciously, effortlessly, head held high.

“Mark, how lovely of you to join us.” His mother says, tone almost caring, _almost_. His father regards him with something seven-year old Mark couldn’t decipher, laconic as he watches his wife and son interact. There’s something regal in both of their postures, shaped from years of ruling an empire that holds virid lands like it did the ample oceans on the outskirts.

“It is a delight, your majesty.” Mark fumbles out, words too big for a kid that’s barely grown up.

His mother hums though, pleased. “You don’t have to call me _your majesty_ , Mark.” She replies, shaking her head with mirth and it’s like Mark has taken a step closer to the wall his parents built from their own son. “Call me mother. After all, you are my son.”

She says it like it’s something trivial, a common fact. But Mark’s been taught what mothers and fathers are. What they define, and reality somehow bleaks in comparison.

“Yes, mother.” He corrects, still standing before them. Trying to keep his hands from shaking and willing his voice to come out louder than a whisper.

Mark watches the king —his father, sitting quietly. As if he’s saving his words, keeping them close to his chest in front of the same boy he calls his son. As if he’s not worth wasting a mixture of letters that could easily spit out a _welcome_. His mother besides him suddenly beckons Mark forward, hand waving in a hither gesture, slowly and gracefully like a queen would. “Come here, Mark. We have something to tell you.”

She pauses to smile wider. Mark wills it to look as pleasant as the way his teacher described a mother’s smile would be.

“I think you will like it.”

He complies, taking tentative steps towards them, still graciously, effortlessly, and with his head held high. Mark only stops when he’s in front of them, arms itching to cross themselves. “What is the news, mother?”

“There’s this prophecy that’s told by the skies and stars themselves.” She begins. “How our son will reign powerful and give this kingdom the wealth it deserves.” Her tone falters. “But, it only holds true if he defeats a monster made from ivory, ruby and gold.”

“I never— I never heard of this.” Mark comments, his mouth just shy of stuttering.

His mother answers casually. "It had been a palace secret, confidential until we thought you were ready to hear it.” 

Ready to have his crown filled by burdens at only seven-years old.

Mark doesn’t really know what to say, stumped. He doesn’t have to however, the queen merely taking his silence as a chance to ask, “Have you ever heard of Hercules?”

He might have, felt like it had been one of the bedtime stories his servant read him about. “A hero, was he not, mother?”

“My, my. What a clever son I have.” Warmth blooms inside him, and his mouth moulds into something more comfortable, less stringent. She continues, “He was a hero, and that’s what you shall be as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“A hero.” His mother repeats. “Is it not any boy’s dream?”

It might be for the town kids rambunctiously giggling outside the walls around his home. It might be for the knight’s son who is so fondly spoken by his parent. It might be for his father.

But it’s not for him.

(Instead, Mark likes the sound from the flute that plays during the dinners he spends alone, a big hall with servants that don’t talk and a family that don’t show up. He likes the clarity that springs from a piano and the words resonating from a performer’s mouth during evening balls, the only time there seems to be life in this golden castle he lives in.)

He wants to look down, fiddle his fingers, _run away_. “I like to think not, mother.” Mark lets out feebly, straining his eyes to stare at the figures, statues perhaps, in front of him. Watch annoyance cloud their visions.

Mark realises there and then, it’s something he doesn’t ever want to see again.

The queen’s voice is taut when she speaks, “What do you mean?”

 _A lot._ It means a lot of things rather than the words that comes out from Mark’s mouth. “Perhaps I am not best suited.”

The queen shakes his head, disregarding him before she even has a chance to simmer it in her mind.

“Nonsense.” She assures. “A man can sail the seven seas with just a plank if he wishes to meet his lover. I have great faith in you, Mark. Do not let me down before you have even gave it a go.”

There’s brittleness where the softness should blanket, and an answer at the end of her speech that’s already been spoken into existence before Mark has even replied.

“I am sorry.” He apologises, looking at the ground briefly. “I just did not wanted to disappoint you.”

Maybe Mark will learn to see the appeal in becoming the person everyone worships, the one that leads their people to victory.

Someday, maybe.

“You will not.” It’s not anything of comfort, more so a spoken fact. “For the omen has spoken, and my child will complete it, make his mother proud and make his region proud.” Her black and silver gown flutters around the throne she sits on, as if in agreement. It echoes what she says.

It’s funny how his mother speaks of becoming a hero yet Mark has already failed at the first hurdle. Too scared to go against the person that speaks to him like he’s someone worth having around. “I shall do my best.” Mark resolutely announces. “I will make you proud.”

He says with a voice as loud as a seven year old could bring out, steel in his tone and the first of the many wisdom that will flow into his eyes.

A sound booms through the room, rough and low. Different than anyone he’s ever heard of and sending a chill that makes him rigid from fear. It’s nothing like the music box he’s kept hidden under his bed, a gift from an old servant. Reminds him more of the coldness that’s splays across his teacher’s face, for every word he gets wrong. Every word he stutters. _Responsibility_. _Gallantry_. _Conquering_.

He belatedly realises it’s the king’s.

“You are my son, Mark. And no son of mine shall be a coward, do you understand?”

Inhale. _Exhale._

“Yes, father.”

He waits.

“You were born to become a champion. Born to bring the land your feet is beneath on, the wealth it deserves.” The king states, and a heavy hand rests on Mark’s shoulder, sorely out of place. Perhaps it’s wishful to think it almost possesses the affection he desires from a man he calls father. He hangs onto it like a rope on the edge of a cliff. “So built yourself from iron and stones, and don’t allow anyone to let the fire inside you burn out.”

And eleven years later, Mark believes he still kept his father’s words.

For like the king had said, he did build himself from iron and stones.

Forged from the same stones that get broken down by ocean tides and the same iron which rusts under the air he breathes.

 

\- 4005 -

 

“Pleasure meeting you, prince.” The youthful man says. It seems like he means it too, and that’s something hard to come by with the life Mark lives. “I'm Johnny and I'll be your trainer from now on.”

Seven year old Mark looks at him, trying to see any ulterior motives. They always is one. “Pleasure is mine too.” He says, reciting the constant set of words that's almost a reflex by now. “I shall look forward to training with you.”

Johnny laughs, as if he can’t believe a young kid is speaking the way Mark is. “No need to be so formal.” He crouches down. Couldn’t look older than sixteen. Younger than all the guards protecting this castle, and yet this man holds the title of one of the most sought out knights.

Why he chose to come here and be Mark’s trainer however, is beyond him.

He puts his hand up. “Here, how about we greet each other by slapping our hands together.” He wiggles his brows. “Bowing is so overrated, and you and me. We’re better than that, aren’t we?”

Young Mark regards Johnny, who looks so happy to talk to him, no barriers between them and only a readiness to know Mark, actually _know_ him.

He only hopes he doesn’t appear too keen when he returns it with fervour.

 

\- 3318 -

 

Donghyuck looks like every other scrawny kid Johnny sent to train him against. (With the added bonus of a striking hair colour that stands out against the rather dull training room.)

At least, that’s what Mark thought of at first.

Because it turns out, what the boy lacked in strength, he made up for with his stinging words.

“I thought the prince would be more bulky.” It’s the first words that leave his mouth and Mark wants to scoff, thinking it’s a little hypocritical to point that out when he looks none the better. Standing away from both of them, Johnny — his trainer, sometimes his close and only listener, other times a brother, shakes his head. He’s used to the boy’s attitude, it seems. It’s in contrast with Mark’s own feeling, sceptical (never scared) of a boy who holds no respect for him when he's had men kneeling at his feet.

Mark wraps another bandage around his hand, changing his face to one of indifference. “And I thought Johnny would give me a more challenging opponent.”

“Big words coming from an eleven year old.”

He steps into the circle. “Big words coming from a ten year old who appears to forget the person he’s talking to.”

Donghyuck cackles. It’s aggravating, but it doesn’t faze Mark. His first lesson after all, had been a lesson on being calm. Anger is the greatest weakness and the downfall of every battle. A mantra, a chant, words that he’s grown to embed in his brain and cruise through his blood.

“You might have a crown on your head,” He points out, bracing his position. “But you got to earn my respect to keep it, _prince_.”

Johnny’s whistle rings loud.

And there’s a movement, too blurry from the speed, too predictable for Mark not to dodge.

Donghyuck goes down easily. _Easily._ All in five minutes.

It’s with the right hand that swings at the younger, fist meeting cheek and power meeting pain. There’s an execution Mark delivers that can only be through years of crafting his techniques. A motion of movements improved from countless ones aimed at himself. Donghyuck goes down with his left one however, a small swoop to his stomach, watching him crash to the ground, curled up at first.

Usually it’s how they stay.

But Donghyuck’s different. Mark should have seen it as a first warning really.

Calmness ebbs away when the boy turns over to splay his limbs out and laugh, howl even. There’s blood around his mouth and dirt across his dull tunic. It’s a clean defeat. It _should_ be a clean defeat.

Yet the boy beams like he’s just won and allows the light from the sun to graze through the windows and reflect off his charcoal eyes, unashamed. “Earned it.” He declares like he’s the one giving Mark permission. “Earned it fair and square, I guess.”

He’s saved from speaking by Johnny coming towards them. “Well done, Mark.” He pats his back on another success. The word’s somehow more bitter this time.

“Are you not going to gloat, _oh sweet hero_?” Donghyuck taunts, spitting his words out, cerise laced. Johnny gives him a warning sign and it’s the first time Mark has seen the older look so stern. But so, _so_ fond, in a way Mark craves and revels in when indulged.

“Donghyuck, one more time, and you’re going to be sent to clean the kitchens again.”

He watches the boy simply poke his tongue on the insides of his cheek. “Like you’d make me, Johnny.” It makes his trainer shake his head fondly and Mark holds on to the last calmness he has inside him. _Because it angers him. Because it must be nice._ To speak so carelessly, like Mark isn’t a few feet away in an opposite spectrum, calculating the _intonation_ in the string of vowels and consonants he carries himself with.

It’s noticeably clear to see Donghyuck is made of freedom and spoilt of love.

Mark can’t lie and say he isn’t jealous.

 

\- 3263 -

 

“Ow!” It’s squeaky and Mark looks up from where he’s talking with one of the baronesses to peruse at the sight of Johnny pinching Donghyuck’s ear as he drags him away from the queen, who clearly looks affronted at whatever the younger must have said.

The baroness titters, hiding her sneer behind her cup. “What a little monster.” She looks at him, sighing in awe. “It is fortunate the prince has a lot more manners and courtesy.”

They watch the older drag Donghyuck away, but not before the younger shouts at the queen. “I really hope the remedy I recommended helps your wrinkles, my queen!”

It's easy to see everyone trying to hold their sniggers in.

Truth to be told though, Mark doesn’t really have manners, practically getting distracted a minute into the baroness talking about her husband’s affluence. He just knows how to act. “I am sure he will learn from this experience.” Mark doubts it, but he can’t really say he doesn’t want Donghyuck to stop either.

Her eyes shine. “Amazing that you always see good in people.” She’s talking out of her ass now. “You will make a wonderful king someday.”

He saves himself from having to reply by lifting his cup to drink.

 

\- 2953 -

 

A whole cycle filters through, letting the flowers bloom again as spring comes back round. Mark doesn’t care too much to dwell on the beauty of it. Nothing will change. No matter if the tree paints themselves emerald green or ablicant white, he’ll still be stuck inside the grounds, preparing for the day he turns nineteen and meets the monster his parents describe with so much loathing and disgust.

Donghyuck comes and goes too, each time a little longer, but still with defeat etched into their battles together. Leaves with a busted grin on his face, hands resting behind his head, and a provoking remark that has Mark forming another line in his forehead.

There’s no pathetic fallacy when they grow into something more than opponents or acquaintances.

It’s windy if anything, leaves rustling and useless buckets tumbling around.

Mark only has time to walk through the palace gardens once before he knows he’ll have a lesson on diplomacy by apparently, the finest scholar from the neighbouring lane. Probably some senile person who thinks age is all that is needed to talk however they want to him. It’s why he makes sure to appreciate his time outside, tread over the footpath slowly, look at the ponds with as much interest as he can muster and thank the gardeners for the flowers they tend to so carefully.

It’s also why it’s easy to hear Donghyuck’s voice piercing through the reserved background. (Though the boy had always been loud.)

“Oh dear, you poor thing.”

Mark’s surprised by how sweet it sounds, voice tender and soft like it’s made to tell a sonnet instead of the usual insult fired at him. There’s a figure behind one of the trees, concealed from the footpath if he hadn’t focused on it. His lesson is in twenty minutes and Mark really should ignore Donghyuck. They’re not even friends. The boy teases him every chance he gets, and the longest sentence Mark has uttered to Donghyuck was asking if the other needed any medicine to treat his gash after a particular match.

Against the better judgement in his mind however, he follows his curious heart instead this time. Ambling over cautiously, his steps are light as Mark arrives behind the tree to see Donghyuck crouching, his back shielding the view. The boy’s wearing his usual white tunic and trousers, which Mark always wondered why, since Donghyuck’s if anything but attentive in keeping them clean, usually marred into dullness by the end of the day.

His shadow alerts his presence and Donghyuck jolts, looking behind to glare at the intruder.

“God, you scared me.” He hisses, turning to face towards the ground again. “Did you get a lesson in moving like a ghost or something?”

Mark tilts his head like it should be obvious. “I did, in fact.”

Donghyuck lets out a huff.

“That was rhetorical.” He verifies. “Why are you here anyways? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, out riding horses?” 

Mark doesn’t have an answer himself. “I just wanted to see what trouble you were up to this time.” He lies.

Donghyuck looks offended. “Listen, I don’t care what you say, but I told you before and I’ll tell you again.” He censures. “That fire a few days ago was _not_ started by me.”

“I beg to differ.”

The boy blows a raspberry, childish even for a ten year old. “ _I beg to differ_.” He mocks. “God, you sound thirty. By the time you complete your oracle, you’ll be a hundred.” He laughs at his own joke. “I’d worry if I were you.”

Mark clenches his jaw. He should have just left for his lessons. “Are you always this cruel?” It’s hard to keep his emotions at bay when Donghyuck hits his sore spot dead on.

But something changes in the younger’s expression, like he didn’t expect the kind of reaction Mark’s just given. “Hey, I was just joking.” He back-tracks softly. “I apologise if it genuinely made you feel bad.”

His tone resonates honesty. 

“I’m sure your subpar humour will drive the beast away.” Donghyuck tries light-heartedly, and it sounds so stupid Mark can’t help but feel his anger dissipating.

The boy stills for a moment before shuffling to one side. When Mark makes no further movement, Donghyuck spins again, ducking his head to the spot next to him. “Well? Come nearer then. Or are you just going to stand there like a buffoon?”

Something about how casual Donghyuck is with him breaks his façade, a splutter rising out of him. “I am _not_ a buffoon.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re _still_ standing.”

Mark has no obligation to do what the boy’s asked him to, let alone continue the conversation, but greed is powerful and Mark wants to coddle himself from his otherwise static life. The decision’s been made. Sending one look towards his clean, silk silver shirt and black cotton trousers, he sighs as he crouches down next to the boy, pulling his shirt sleeves up.

Mark first spots Donghyuck cupping something fluttering inside and lets a small noise out when they open up to reveal a bird, its wings a little torn and carelessly bandaged by Donghyuck’s unskilled hands.

“I found it while I was climbing back down.” Donghyuck explains, (Mark wants to know why he'd even been climbing in the first place) eyes fond as he slowly pets the bird’s head. “I was thinking of bringing it back to the palace so I can take care of it.”

Mark shakes his head as soon as he finishes his sentence. “You can’t.”

“Why,” Donghyuck immediately bristles. “You don’t have the power to tell me what to do.”

Sometimes Mark wonders if Donghyuck even thinks before he speaks. “I’m a prince, Donghyuck.” He dead-pans. “I actually _do_ have the power.”

It’s the first time Donghyuck presses his lips, no witty remark to give back. Mark distantly thinks, he can understand why Donghyuck always teases him, if he’s as endearing as the younger’s currently being. The frown on Donghyuck’s face gets replaced with a disappointed look though, and Mark hurries to explain. “I’m only saying we can’t because it'll be futile.”

“How so?”

“You don’t know the people working in there.” Mark points out. “They will either tell you that keeping a bird is not an option, or worse. Throw it out because they think it is a waste of time healing it.”

Donghyuck’s hands momentarily tightens, yelping when the bird sticks its feet in to keep it from getting squashed. He coos to soothe it, mulling over in the meantime. “Don’t they know?” He asks Mark after the bird’s stops fidgeting. “You can get rid of their wings, but these birds will still have their claws?”

Mark gets it. Mark knows. It’s a shame his parents don’t. “This palace wants perfection, Donghyuck. Anything less is not an option.”

The boy’s brows draw over. “What do we do now then?”

Mark contemplates, reaching over to caress the soft feathers of the bird. It chirps. “I have an idea.” He shifts a bit, opening his mouth to relay his plan. It never manages to leave when the clock chimes instead and Mark realises only then, the lesson he still has to take inside the palace. _Shit._

Donghyuck flails at the speed Mark scrambles up with, unable to stop himself from falling over, hands too occupied with the bird. He groans. “Stop doing that! Is your new hobby scaring me? Is it?”

Mark ignores him to dusts his trousers, sending a brief glance at the younger’s grimace before taking off. “Meet me here in two hours.” Is all he says.

He runs, intending to leave without a single glance back.

Donghyuck calls out to him however. “Your plan better be solid, Mark.”

He turns around to see the younger sitting cross-legged while holding the bird, blowing his fringe in a puff. For some reason though, Mark feels his heart becoming a little lighter.

 

 

(The lesson goes by a little smoother too.)

 

 

“Didn’t know the pristine, golden prince knew how to make a cart.” Donghyuck comments, standing to look at the finished product Mark constructed from the branches and twigs spared on the ground. They’re at the spot behind the gardening shed, hidden by the trees, making it a perfect area for the bird to heal, covered from outside world.

He gently handles the bird inside, making sure it's comfortable before standing up. The sun's gradually setting by now, unamused by the two boys’ antics. It makes the garden look timeless, and Mark thinks then, this is the beauty he read about in stories and chose unfortunately, to ignore. “You learn a lot of things when you have ten lessons a day.”

The boy blanches. “I have three and I still don’t show up. Most of the times, it’s the sheer force of Johnny carrying me to it.” He grumbles, crossing his arms.

“He only wants the best for you.”

“Is that what your parents say to you?” Donghyuck replies, not intending to be mean but just being truthful. “Wait, better question. Do you _want_ to become a king?”

“Of course.”

“Wow, you _sure_ sound enthusiastic.” Donghyuck states blankly. “Beats Johnny’s monologue of how education is good for you, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

Mark chuckles. “How did you come to know Johnny anyways?” He adds on after, “If I may ask.” Being with Donghyuck made him lose his ability to carry himself with caution, as if Donghyuck had stripped away the character he wills himself to be and replaced it with the inquisitive, young boy Mark once was.

He observes Donghyuck feeding the bird, eyes casting a sombre look Mark hasn’t ever seen the younger hold. “It’s not something worth a secret, so I guess I can tell you, curious cat.” Mark thinks he should say something about the nickname but figures, it’s best to let the boy carry on. Donghyuck smiles faintly beside him, his side profile illuminated by the orange sky. “He saved me, out on the streets. Fed me and told me that he saw something in me.” The bird titters as if it’s listening as well. “Took me to the palace to work as ‘his helper’ and well, here I am.” He ends, flourishing his hands.

Mark nods because he doesn’t know what else to do, doesn’t think they’re close enough to hug or say _I understand_. It’s not as if he can tell his story either when there's no story _to_ be told, _could_ only be told if his family ever showed up.

“What did you name it?” He says instead, switching to the topic that led them to this limbo between being acquaintances and friends. It’s an easy term to possess when Mark can count on his fingers, the number of times anyone ever spoke to him with ease.

Donghyuck grins, and _my_ , Mark thinks, _that’s_ _blinding_. (Perhaps that’s the real reason why the sun’s had enough for today.) “Seagull.” He points to the two grey strips above the small bird. “They remind me of your eyebrows.”

“What.”

Donghyuck carries on. “You two can be long, lost brothers, you know.”

A couple of beats before it sinks in and Mark feels no sympathy when he shoves Donghyuck right onto the mud next to them, the younger’s shrieking being the last thing the sun hears before it fully hides behind the mountains around them.

 

\- 2875 -

 

“What _are_ you doing?”

Mark thinks it’s friendship now. He hopes so anyways.

Donghyuck’s sat by the fields behind the garden, around the small area of grass that needs a trim or two before it descends into rows of yellow poppies —the queen’s favourite. The boy’s fiddling with daisies, a cluster of them on his lap and a string hanging from the one he’s currently making. He jiggles it when he looks up. “Making a daisy chain.”

Mark moves to sit opposite Donghyuck, confusion swarming his eyes. He’s never heard of them, not in any of the books he's read. “What’s this daisy chain you speak of?”

The boy gasps, crushing the cluster he's made as he presses his palms inside his lap and leans close to Mark’s face. “Tell me you’re just trying your poor attempt at being funny.”

Mark’s learnt to ignore the boy’s insults by now. (Three months does wonders.) “I’m not.” He responds. Joking’s still a concept he has trouble with, that and ‘ _sitting like he hasn’t got a pole up his ass’_ , as Donghyuck would say.

“It’s a wreath made from locking daisies together.” Donghyuck holds up the one he’s finished earlier, tugging them open to show the ring it makes.

“Is this not, a bit useless?”

“I like making them.” Donghyuck answers, as if it’s a reason enough. “It’s only useless if you don’t gain any happiness from it, Mark.”

It’s amusing. Because what has he been doing for the past five years then?

He says nothing however.

Donghyuck hums to fill the silence, attaching the ends together. He watches the boy scrutinise it for any bugs crawling around and when the younger deems there isn’t, thinks he’ll just add to the growing pile he has underneath him. As usual, Donghyuck continues to prove him wrong by bringing it forward to rest the garland on Mark’s head instead, one of the petal slowly falling over the prince as he blinks in surprise.

“The daisy chain really hides your ugliness.” Donghyuck bluntly states, sniggering when Mark scowls.

He touches it delicately, feeling around the wreath nesting on top. Watches how Donghyuck looks at it with pride. Decides he wants to make one himself. “Teach me.” He demands.

The boy quirks a brow. “I thought you said it was a useless thing to do.”

“And I thought you said if it brought you happiness, then it isn’t.” Donghyuck shrugs, conceding. He starts pivoting around here and there as he gathers the daisies, plucking them to place it in front of Mark, until there’s a heap of it.

At Mark’s peculiar stare, he then instructs, “Okay, first step. Pluck out all the leaves.”

He does as Donghyuck says, pulling it till there’s nothing but a clean stem left. “Like this?”

“Yes, brilliant.” The younger notes. “Now make a slit in the stem and be careful not to do it harshly. It’ll break off otherwise.”

He studies Mark, making a pleased noise once the older’s done it successfully in his third go. “That's it!”

“Now what?”

Donghyuck picks up two of the daisies to demonstrate, a practiced ease when he makes the cut and strings the stem inside the hole carefully. “Like this, until you have around 20 or so to join the ends together.” Chucking the two daisies at Mark, he brings forward the ones he made. “Before you know it, you’ll become a master of making daisy chains like me.”

“A master?”

“Yes, it’s an honourable title to have.”

Mark laughs, finds it’s a thing he does more often these days. He tries to copy what Donghyuck did, his usually stable hands fumbling around and some of the stems hanging by only a thin strand. He pulls through in the end however, albeit with more whining than intended, to finally join them together to create one that’s significantly of a lower quality than Donghyuck’s.

It’s good enough, he guesses.

“Great job.” Donghyuck gives a thumbs up, happy at Mark’s creation.

“Thank you.” The older says, hesitating a bit before moving forward to place his fragile chain on Donghyuck’s head, the boy brightening at his gesture, even as the petals continuously fall in front of his face.

“For me?” He points towards himself in question.

The prince nods firmly, quickly holding his own garland that threatens to fall from his action. He can see the appeal now, in daisies, in making crowns out of them. It feels more special than any other crowns Mark’s put on before.

“It brings out my beauty and charms, does it not?” Donghyuck giggles, playful as he poses like one of those models behind every painter’s masterpiece.

The boy eyes him coyly, anticipating what the crowned prince would decide to say.

And Mark decides to throw a spare daisy at him, because joking is still foreign to him but saying what he truthfully thinks isn’t something he can bring himself to disclose quite yet.

 

\- 2622 -

 

Over time, Mark learnt that his friendship with Donghyuck, also came with the cost of his deteriorating ability to win their matches together.

Add in weapons, and Mark falls flat, having already predicted the outcome when he missed his first chance at nabbing the boy. Even the armour they both wear does nothing to stop the gnawing emotion that creeps inside of him, the nauseous feeling in the pits of his stomach at every clink the sword makes with Donghyuck’s shield and uniform.

He sees the boy’s shocked face from above, his hand trembling as he clutches his claymore, because they both know it’s the first time Donghyuck’s had to look down and Mark's had to look up.

_It’s the first time Donghyuck’s won._

Johnny strides towards them, a pinched expression on his face. “Well done, Donghyuck.” He tries a smile but it comes out a grimace. “You can go now. Leave your armour in the changing room.”

Donghyuck looks back and forth between them. “But—”

“That wasn't a question, Donghyuck.”

His eyes meet Donghyuck’s and it hardly goes unnoticed by Johnny when Mark signals the boy to go. That he can handle it. Johnny would look like a saint compared to all the other teachers he’s had anyways.

The boy takes one, last glance at the oldest, trying to gauge his caretaker’s emotions, before trailing away, the clinking of his silver coverings sounding quieter and quieter till it fades into nothing.

“What was that, Mark?” His trainer turns to look at him, cream clothes rustling from the speed.

“He won.” Mark states, keeping his tone neutral. “I apologise for my carelessness.”

Johnny squats to be eye-levelled with the prince, to show he’s not looking down on him. It doesn’t really help. “You and I both know you held back, Mark.” He rubs a hand down his face, bemused. “What I don’t understand is _why_.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Most of your opponents are friends too.”

Mark doesn’t really think saying a polite _how are you_ resulted in him being _friends_ with the other boys, but that’s his mentor's presumption to make. “Donghyuck’s a _close_ friend of mine, Johnny.”

The older scans him, mien a little incredulous. “Are you implying you cannot fight Donghyuck, should it come down to it?”

He considers his choices and sticks to the simplest one. “Yes.” There’s no point in deceiving when Johnny’s the second person behind Donghyuck to be able to read him like a book.

His mentor ruffles his hair in frustration and Mark continues looking at him. Because looking down means defeat, and defeat is not something Mark’s accustomed to. Once had been enough for today.

“We’ll change your partners then.” Johnny informs him in the end, much to Mark’s jaw-slacked disbelief. “Donghyuck will no longer be duelling with you.”

He grasps Johnny’s wrist before he thinks about it. It comes out as a surprise to both of them. “Will you be sending Donghyuck away?” Mark berates himself for sounding too affected, even if it’s Johnny who he’s speaking to.

The other doesn’t say anything, face unreadable and Mark would rather listen to his teacher scolding him than the torturous wait his trainer inflicts him with. It’s a few bated breaths before he speaks again, this time with a tone that’s harder to decipher. “No, Mark. He’s staying.”

There’s an underlying meaning behind his words. The silent, _you can still be happy_ , left unsaid.

 

\- 1414 -

 

Jeno is different to Donghyuck. He is different in a way that is incomparable, and if Donghyuck were to be the tower bell that chimes every morning, airy and intense; Jeno would be the waves crashing by the shore, resonant and gentle.

He’s the cousin Mark has never had a chance of meeting till now, a prince from the cold region ruled up north, with a deep merlot flag and a black raven as their symbol, intricate details on the golden silk outfits they wear. His elder brother Doyoung, greets them with an affable smile but Mark hasn’t said much else to him, too busy caught up in giving Jeno a tour of their palace.

“How do you find it? I hope I did not bore you too much.” Mark politely enquires, having finished showing him around and settling by a corner in the grand ball where both their families and respected guests continue to commute.

Donghyuck’s out helping in the kitchen and Mark wishes the boy was here instead, always the less awkward out of the two.

Jeno smiles, voice kind. “Not at all. It was wonderful, thank you.” He fiddles his hands slightly, the act captured easily by Mark. “I don't have a right to complain anyhow when my humour is lacking, so to say.” He chuckles, scratching his head in embarrassment. His face is open with all the emotions he’s displaying, like he wears his heart on his sleeves. It’s unlike his own brother, Doyoung, who Mark would peg as a standard prince, walls up and eyes calculative.

(He blithely wonders, would he have been like Jeno, in another universe possibly? )

“That would make the two of us, then.” Mark assures, patting Jeno’s knees lightly. “My friend has always been the funnier one.” He pauses. “Sarcastic, too.”

Jeno strokes his chin, murmuring. “Your friend sounds like my courtier.” He points to a smaller boy chatting with Johnny. Their colours blend in, Johnny swapping his usual black clothes with a gold and red one, quite fancy for someone Mark’s usually seen in a simple tunic and trousers. “His name is Renjun.” And in a quieter voice like he’s afraid the other would hear. “I don't think he favours me very much, however.” He sounds upset.

Mark feels like one of the ladies currently gossiping about. “Why do you think that?”

“He came from the land over the seas a few months ago.” Jeno elucidates. “But every time I try to talk with him, he closes off more.”

 _He sounds like me_ , Mark thinks. “I'd advise you to possibly give him some space. I'm sure he will come to you when he feels relaxed enough.” He observes the neutral face the courtier puts on and figures it’s anything if protection. From being hurt. Maybe he’s projecting his own feelings, maybe not. “I think he is just shy.”

“You think?”

Mark turns to give Jeno a positive nod. “No doubt.”

“I just want to be his friend.” Jeno pouts.

The prince laughs at the other’s antic and it’s strange. Johnny’s not here. Neither is Donghyuck.

But he feels happy, very happy.

 

\- 1407 -

 

“How did you find your cousins?”

It’s been a week since the northern region had arrived and Mark’s elated. A little sad when he had to say his goodbyes to his cousins but not so much when Jeno promised to write him a letter when he gets back. Even Doyoung placed a small spot in his heart, a notebook he gave to Mark as a present and a reminder of the boy’s melodic voice when he sang to them on their last night. It’s unsurprising but Donghyuck took a liking to Jeno straightaway as well, and by the end, Mark’s face hurts too much from smiling and laughing and playing around like he’s fifteen with a world to discover.

“They were lovely.” He smiles at his parents and it’s genuine.

It quickly fades however when he sees them exchanging looks. Twenty-three times Mark has had conversations with them —he pathetically counted, and twenty-three times he’s walked away, stretched too thinly.

Today seems no different.

His mother speaks again, and Mark’s mind jolts back to the memory of when she spoke with Jeno’s parents, same tone, same shields.

“Did you not notice anything?”

Mark scrunches his face, trying to figure out what his mother is implying. “I do not think so, forgive me.”

The king besides him sighs. (It’s one of the three things he constantly does whenever Mark is around.) “The colours.”

Colours?

 _Oh_.

Flag red as the roses in their gardens, shirts white like the snowy mountains they reside in and the details in them as golden as the crowns that they rest on top of their heads.

“It cannot be.” He whispers. “It must be a coincidence.”

The king shakes his head. "This is what the warning had been about.” He cracks his knuckles. “I knew it. I always knew it.” He says it like he simply solved a measly case. “My brother is out to get me.” His tone is happy, happy about being right. Forgotten what his own brother’s betrayal feels like. Were they ever close, Mark wants to ask.

“Jeno and Doyoung are lovely.” He tries. “I am sure this is just a mistake.”

“It is not.”

“Mother!”

“We should start planning for the inevitable war.” The king brusquely adds.

“Father, please!”

“Enough, Mark!" Hollow visits his mother’s eyes and her voice drips with venom. "Roses are lovely till you grasps their thorns.” He feels like a prey in his own home. “Don’t believe in fairy tales, my son.”

Twenty-four, and counting.

“Monsters are not just the dragons and other beasts people speak of in hushed whispers, they can be human.” There’s no remorse. “They can be your own cousins.”

 

 

\- 1403 -

 

“Is something wrong?” Donghyuck pulls him in when Mark turns up to the cottage beside the palace where he and Johnny resides. There’s something akin to relief when Mark all but slouches and puts his whole weight on the boy. It’s conceivably his worst decision yet, to go to Donghyuck when he neither has the energy to tell him the reason behind his delirious state nor an excuse for arriving at midnight, in his sleepwear, looking like a deranged person.

He wants to apologise, say it was a mistake, that he didn’t know what possessed him.

But he’s tired of staring at the ceiling in his bedroom, watching the paintings blend into one and his head to throb in pain. The bags under his eyes probably say a lot and Mark just wants to pass one night where nightmares don’t plague him and berate him for being so foolish.

“Where’s Johnny?” He asks without replying to the younger's earlier question, watching worry flicker in his eyes.

“He’s visiting someone important in another province, won't be back till tomorrow afternoon.” Mark sighs in relief. Donghyuck tries to scan his expression and he wouldn’t be surprised if it simply reeks of fatigue. “Why do you ask?”

He pushes himself off Donghyuck, after noticing the strain in his tone from having to carry both their weights. “Can I sleep here?”

Mark knows it’s stupid but one more sleepless night and he think he’ll go insane. Might even become a monster himself.

Donghyuck seems taken back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“I’ll leave before the sun rises. I promise.”

“Why here?” Donghyuck pushes. “Is there something wrong in the castle?”

Everything. _Everything._ “I couldn’t sleep.”

Donghyuck looks like he wants a more detailed explanation. But taking a glimpse at his haggard appearance, he leaves it thankfully and addresses Mark’s request instead. “Johnny locks his bedroom door so there’s only one bed, Mark.” He bits his lip. “Uncomfortable as well.”

Mark doesn’t care. “I’ll take the floor.”

“Absolutely not.” It’s resolute and Mark searches for the reason why Donghyuck sounds serious, a contrast from his usual snarky personality. “ _Maybe_ because my friend looks like he’s on his death bed.” Donghyuck snips, and Mark forgets in his exhausted state, that he’s spoken it all out loud.

“I just need to sleep.”

“You don’t say.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Honestly, you look like— _wait_. Where are you going?”

Mark walks to where he thinks is the younger’s bedroom, cheers drowsily when he opens the door and the boy makes no noise of protest. His mouth is loose, thoughts a little haywire. “We can just share then.”

Donghyuck chases after him, for once the one flustered. “I-It is fine, I can take the floor.”

He plops on the bed, gaze unfocused. Tries a couple of times before he grips onto Donghyuck’s wrist and pulls him over, sending the boy floundering and crashing on top of him. He snuggles up to Donghyuck, wrapping his arms and legs and mumbling incoherently, opening his eyes just a bit to look at the other. And Mark would wax poetic about the boy’s doe eyes, his heart-shaped lips, maybe get into a meltdown about how rosy his cheeks are.

But Mark's tired, and he’s not one to fight the drooping of his eyes for the first time in days, too pacified by the boy’s warmth and the slow wisps of air he feels when the younger breathes.

There’s a lull before, “What will I do with you?”

Mark wants to answer, he probably did. A mesh of jumbled up words that makes no sense. He doesn’t think much about it.

There’s suddenly a soft voice singing to him, familiar and sweet, and Mark’s done thinking.

 

 - 646 -

 

Sometimes he wished the sword had swung a little harder to knock him out.

It would be better than to see the despondent looks his parents hold, for failing them, yet again. They miss (ignore) how he’s in a medical bed, bandaged hand and bruised torso on display; miss (ignore) the pained look he has at every movement he makes. Focus more on how he didn’t see his opponent’s sword coming in.

“This better not happen again, Mark.” The queen seethes. The nurse had been more caring than her. “I was so worried.”

Mark wants to laugh. He might have believed her once, but ten years can jade a person.

“I apologise, mother.” It’s robotic, an automatic response that’d been coded in his body. “I shall not let it happen again.”

She’s pleased enough by the answer. “I hope not. I heard Doyoung is quite the swordsman.” There’s hatred in her own nephew’s name. “Be better.” She says like Mark’s not trying.

“Yes, mother.”

“Doyoung is strong.”

“I know, mother.”

“You should be stronger.”

“Yes, mother.”

She nods. “Now, get well soon. Your lesson on treaties commences in a few hours.” Planting a kiss on top of his head, she moves to leave the same time Mark tries not to shudder from the coldness in her action.

His father follows her, stopping by the doorway. A flit of nothing. His head is still faced away when he says, “Remember the prophecy.” Gruff in the way skin runs on tarmac. “I expected more of you.” His cloak brushes against the floor, and Mark stays mute.

He doesn’t know how long the room descends into stillness for, the clock on the table beside him ticking and the curtains ruffling from the wind outside. It only breaks when Donghyuck burst in, loud, always loud.

“ _You_.” Practically a hiss, a sheen of sweat smears across his forehead and his mouth gasps for air, out of breath. “You scared me to death, you complete buffoon.”

“Is that a way to treat an injured person?”

“You think you’re _so_ funny.” His eyes narrow and it’s easy to see he’s annoyed. There’s a small twist of his lips and his foot tap the ground in anger. Mark loves it. And it’s ironic. How it’s the anger and annoyance flowing from his parents that brought him down and how it’s the one to bring him up when it comes from Donghyuck instead.

“I’m sorry.” He means it this time. He pouts a bit, uncharacteristically when Donghyuck continues to tap his foot, still by the doorway. “I’m _sincerely_ sorry, Donghyuck.”

The boy huffs, finally coming in. He sits by Mark’s bed and fishes some hard-boiled candies out of his pocket, grimy hands wedging it towards him. “Here, stole it from the kitchen.”

“Lemon?”

“Who do you think I am?” Donghyuck grins. “Of course.”

Mark gestures his bandaged hand. “Can you plop it in for me?”

The sight of his injury sets Donghyuck off again and he looks frustrated. “Should you really be subjected to this vigorous training.” He unfolds the wrapper. “You’re only seventeen.”

_You shouldn’t be doing this._

Mark moves , wincing when his bruised torso strain. The path is right there, for him to talk about how he has twelve lessons a day, how Johnny always pushes him harder, how his parents never regard him with anything other than anticipation and expectations. But once he looks at Donghyuck’s face, how uncorrupted it is, with innocence he only sees in the daisies scattered across the fields. He finds that he can’t. Not when he’ll be the one to tarnish it.

“I’m a prince.” It’s not an answer to anything. It’s the closest he can give however.

Donghyuck looks down at the yellow candy, sighing. It looks like he wants to say something too, but just like Mark, he takes one look and presses his mouth to stop it from coming out.

The subject gets shoved under the rug once more.

“That, you are.” He mutters in the end, picking the candy to place it gently on Mark’s lips.

Taking it between his mouth, Mark sucks on it a few times before commenting, “You do know you’ll have to feed me for the next month or so?”

Donghyuck raises his chin. “What makes you think I’ll do it?”

“Because you’re Donghyuck.” Mark replies. “And you care for me.”

The boy regards him haughtily. “You _wish_.”

“Should you be this mean to your own prince?”

“ _My_ prince?” Donghyuck quirks a brow. “My _own_ prince?” He smirks.

The injured boy blushes at the implication, slapping Donghyuck’s arm with his free hand. “Don’t twist my words.”

Donghyuck shoves the other candy he has in his mouth, putting his hands in his pockets to portray an aura of confidence. “I guess you _can_ be my prince.” He examines him. “A little broken, a little awkward.” It’s sounds like an insult. Mark’s heart still warms. Donghyuck shrugs, giving a small grin. “But I suppose I never wanted perfection anyways.”

And how foolish he had been. To have thought such a silly thing earlier on. Because to have this, Mark realises, he’d go through the darkness a thousand times more just to be able to see the sun at the end of it.

 

\- 365 -

 

“Don’t lie to me.” Mark dictates, munching on his birthday cake. “You started the small fire in my study, right?”

Donghyuck looks at him from where he’s scarfing down his own slice. “It's your special day. Had to get you out of your lessons _somehow_.” At Mark’s aghast look, he pokes him with his foot and stresses, “Stop looking like I killed someone. You’d still be stuck during legumins (“Logarithms.”) if I hadn’t done it.”

Mark cocks his head. “I suppose you’re right.”

A few beats of silence.

“Wait a minute."

"Huh?"

"Ages ago, when there was a fire in the queen’s bedroom.” He retells, slowly remembering. “You said you didn’t start the fire, but that was a lie too, wasn’t it?”

Donghyuck’s sheepish smile is answer enough.

 

\- 213 -

 

Mark has a few revelations on a frosty January’s eve.

Donghyuck might be seventeen but Mark should have known he still had the childishness from when he first met the younger, seven years ago. The boy had demanded for a game to take place and soon enough, they’re shrieking, pelting snowballs at each other and giggling like kids whenever one of them hits the other on the head.

Mark’s sniffling from the cold, and his hair is wet from the snow. Donghyuck doesn’t fare any better, the cold tip of his nose and ears a bright red and puffs of smoke coming out his mouth.

“I’ll get you back on that last one!” He swears, moulding another snowball while Mark tries to run away.

It’s a chase afterwards, Mark trying to get away from the boy who’s hand grips onto a fairly large and menacing-looking snowball. He can kiss his streak of avoiding a cold goodbye if it ever hits him. The garden is big but to keep running in circle is meaningless. Eventually, Donghyuck catches up, aiming close to pelt him and soak his back with white frost.

He turns around to get his vengeance but the only thing that meets him is white, as Donghyuck throws another one, landing square on his face.

His vision is blurry but his ears still work, hearing Donghyuck snort and laugh, bouts of giggles here and there.

“Come here.” Mark grits out, each step forward while Donghyuck takes one back, trying to stifle his giggles. “You're _so_ going to get it.”

Donghyuck waves his finger, eyes still in a permanent crease. He takes another step backwards and it’s all in slow motion seeing Donghyuck flail his arms as he slips on black ice, mouth opening wide and before Mark knows it, he reaches out to grab the younger’s wrist, one arm going around his waist whilst the other successfully grabs onto the boy’s hand.

Neither move and Mark realises staring, how red Donghyuck’s cheeks are, the way his wide eyes stare at him and more importantly, the loud thrumming in his heart. It’s nothing like how books describe the feeling to be. It’s nothing like butterflies in his stomach when Mark feels more like he’s free-falling. Nothing like the realisation a person will apparently have on the beauty of the other when Mark’s pretty sure he’s known for a while now. And nothing like how they describe people being taken by the red lips when Mark’s rather taken by Donghyuck’s eyes instead.

They also say how tongue-tied people get but Mark’s pretty sure he wants to speak. Whether it’s articulate however, is a whole other thing.

“You,” It’s squeaky. At least the books got that part right. “Um, you okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” Breathless, his voice, and his face. “Thank you for that.”

“No problem.” Mark still has his arm wrapped around Donghyuck’s waist. He’s reluctant to let go. “You’re…”

The words trail off like Mark’s brain decided to stop functioning. Donghyuck holds his gaze, both reticent. “You’re…”

“You’re—”

There’s a sudden push and the prince finds himself falling before he can finish, till he lands on the ground, his ass now wet and betrayal in his eyes when he looks at the culprit. Donghyuck looks a little flushed, giggling and sticking his tongue out. “7 to 5, you better keep up, Mark.”

He runs away and Mark takes his time, words he wanted to say swallowed down and a sense of longing for something deeper now drumming inside him.

 

\- 149 -

 

“I hate you.” Donghyuck proclaims, clutching his heart from the scare Mark put him through when the older jumped out from the corner. “I hate you so much.”

Mark’s too engrossed laughing. “That’s what you get for pushing me over.”

“It was two months ago!”

He taps the side of his forehead with his finger. “A prince never forgets.”

Donghyuck takes a sly glance and Mark’s unprepared with how close the younger suddenly gets, tugging the lapels of his coat to keep him near. It feels eerily similar to their garden moment two months ago too. “If a prince doesn’t forgets,” Donghyuck lilts. “Then what was the thing you wanted to say to me before I pushed you?” That little devil. “Huh, Mark?”

“ _Uh_.”

“Mark?” They scramble back, jolting at the sound of Johnny’s voice and soon, his face peering and scrutinising the two’s red faces. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” They both shout in unison. _Like that’s going to help_. “We’re fine.” Mark says, coughing.

Johnny looks suspicious but it's fortunate when he says nothing. “If you say so.” He flicks his head towards the training room. “The king wanted me to train you for a little longer, Mark. Since your birthday’s nearing and all.”

He rolls his shoulder, knowing he should have expected it sooner or later. “Sure.” Mark faces Donghyuck to say goodbye and finds the boy unusually inspecting his nails. “Donghyuck?”

“Yeah?” It’s almost whiplash how the grin has slipped from Donghyuck’s mouth and replaced itself with a hard line.

“Is everything all right?”

The younger considers something, before bobbing his head up and down slowly.

“Yes, don’t worry... everything’s um, everything’s fine.”

 

\- 57 -

 

The younger’s birthday brings smoggy clouds and wind and the daunting feeling of how near his own is, counting down till months turn into days into seconds. He doesn’t find the boy anywhere during the morning nor afternoon, spending the few hours he has trying to search for him only to come up fruitless. His lesson get spent looking out of the window too often that even his teachers notice, a frown on their face that Mark doesn’t care for.

In the end, Donghyuck's found by the field, making the same daisy chains he stopped doing several years ago.

“Goodness, what are you doing out here when it’s about to rain?” Mark calls out to him and there’s something heart-breaking when he sees a rare defeat linger around Donghyuck. For what reason however, Mark doesn’t know. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Donghyuck continues fiddling around with the daises. “Why’re you here?”

The other calms him down the same way he’s the only one to rile him up. “What do you mean why am I here?” He walks closer and leans down to tug Donghyuck’s sleeve. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe.” Donghyuck folds his knees, making himself smaller.

Mark tugs again. “It’s your birthday today, Donghyuck! Your eighteenth! We should be celebrating!”

The boy pulls his arm away. “I know.”  

His father tells him not to be a coward. It’s hard not to cower away though each time he hears Donghyuck’s broken voice speak. “I’m eighteen now.” He lowers his head. “And you’ll be nineteen in two months.”

Mark stops. It’s new territories they’re breaching, a latent issue they never brought up. Till now.

“You never worried before.”

The way Donghyuck throws the daisy chain is harsh, and the way he stands up to glare at Mark is harsher. His jab to the older’s chest hurts but Mark wonders if it pales in comparison to the one swimming in Donghyuck’s eyes. “Never worry?” He laughs hollowly. “Ever since you grew into something more than just the awkward prince living in the southern region,” —Donghyuck grips the collar of Mark’s shirt, not tight but feebly, like he’s lost all his energy,— “I’ve _always_ worried, you imbecile.” He says, a bit quieter.

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Mark placates.

Donghyuck holds onto his collar, grips it like a safety net. “But what if.”

Mark doesn’t know whether to take Donghyuck in his arms. It’d be so easy to do as well. “Have faith in me, Donghyuck. I have been trained by the greatest.”

“Even the greatest fire burns out when there’s nothing left.” Donghyuck helplessly says. “You’re strong.” He places a hand over Mark’s mouth to stop him from speaking. “I _know_ you’re strong.” Taking a shuddery breath in, he whispers. “But aren’t you exhausted too?”

Mark gives a weak chuckle. “I have been for a decade now.” He answers. “It’s nothing new.”

“Can you really fight this beast Johnny speaks of then?”

“I will.” Mark replies. “I’ll try my utmost.”

“I can’t afford to lose you, you know?” Donghyuck’s gaze holds on. “Not when I like you this much.” He gives a helpless smile.

The rain starts pattering down.

Mark’s arms hang limp beside him and he’s stunned silent. He shouldn’t be stunned however, not now anyways. Maybe he would have been six months ago when he didn’t know why Donghyuck blushed at the fleece draped over him, or a year ago when Mark felt something akin to annoyance at one of the chef’s daughter giving Donghyuck a flower —which the younger kindly rejected.

But it still hits him strong when the words leave Donghyuck’s mouth.

“Say something.” The boy urges. He lets go of Mark’s collar and leaves to move away but Mark’s faster. He takes Donghyuck in his arms like he’s wanted to before, wrap both of them around the boy who’s skin looks sun-kissed even when the clouds cover the bulging star in a fit of envy and even when the rain continues to fall down, rendering them both drenched and still so, so, in love.

“Something.” He says, because even Mark’s picked up a joke or two after seven years.

Donghyuck tries to get out of his hold but the prince holds on tighter, laughs at the irritated expression on the boy’s face. His voice is high-pitched. “I will not take this insult—”

“I like you.” Mark cuts him off. The boy in his arms struggles less and he repeats. “I like you, Donghyuck.”

The confession cools Donghyuck down, slowly settling in Mark’s arms but not before giving him a stink eye that holds more happiness than it does of anger. “Damn right you do.” He mumbles, hiding his face in Mark’s chest. A rare sight. His hair starts to sag from the rain and his tunic is drenched too, muddy smears where the dirt used to be. Mark still thinks he’s beautiful.

He pulls away enough to fixate on Donghyuck, aberrantly shy. “Your face matches your hair.” He coos. “Little red apple, what has got you so shy?”

Donghyuck whacks him and he pretends to make a noise of hurt. “Shut up.”

“Make me.” The younger’s head jerks away, face miffed.

There’s a flurry of movement and the lightest touch brushes past the corner of his lips. He blinks to see Donghyuck opening his mouth in shock, a mortified look shadowing his appearance.

“Did you,” Mark tries to ask, holding in his laugh since he figures it’ll go down badly if Donghyuck’s already looking like he’s about to permanently stay red. “Did you just try to kiss me?”

He knows straightaway what the younger’s about to do, gripping tightly so Donghyuck doesn’t even attempt to escape this time. “You did, didn’t you?”

The boy says nothing.

Mark smirks. “I would like an answer, please.”

“So what if I did?” The boy in his arms grumbles, moving his head to spray water on Mark’s face as a little act of pettiness. “I tried to be suave but obviously that didn’t work out the way I wanted it to.”

Mark leaves one of his arm to reach over and hold Donghyuck’s jaw. He’s read about how a kiss feels like in books, how it feels like the heavens’ choir singing and how entrancing it’ll be.  Gazing over Donghyuck’s lips, he thinks they _might_ just be wrong again. “All you had to do was ask, apple.” He leans in.

This time, they get it right.

(The book had been wrong after all. It’s not entrancing enough that Mark’s solely lost in the kiss, that he doesn’t feel the pulse in Donghyuck’s neck racing from excitement. And it’s not like the heavens’ choir singing, more like a mellow lullaby that soothes his insides and turns them to jelly.)

 

\- 41 -

 

“Now, what does that cloud look like?”

“A heart?

“Oh _yeah_ , it does look like a heart.” Donghyuck agrees. “But no, not what I'd been thinking of.”

“A boot?”

“Wrong.”

 “A sock?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” Donghyuck gives a small cheer, looking down to grin at Mark, who has his head currently rested on the boy’s lap, lying across the bench swing at the back of the castle’s garden, veiled from others. He whines as the hand treading his hair stops but it quietens down and turns into a smile when Donghyuck leans down afterwards. “One reward coming up.”

There’s a soft pressure on his lips, as Donghyuck gives a quick kiss, returning to sit up and card his hand through Mark’s scalp. He swings his legs, giddy. “Next! That one, straight above you.”

Mark squints to see where Donghyuck’s pointing, crinkling his nose as he tries to interpret it. “I don’t have a clue.” His mind isn’t at its peak to be fair, not when Donghyuck’s doing wonders to his head. “A pond?”

“Not at all.”

“A flower?”

“That would be an ugly flower.” Donghyuck comments.

Mark moans, “I give up.”

“No kiss then.” He sends a look, glowering at Donghyuck who gives him a cheeky wink in response.

“Just tell me, sunshine.”

The nickname never fails to get Donghyuck to stumble a little, and it’s worth it even when the boy tugs his hair in retaliation.

Donghyuck composes himself before leering. “It’s a seagull.” He says, clicking his tongue.

Mark kicks off a fuss, twisting his way out of the hands buried in his head. It’s a futile action. All it takes is Donghyuck to lean down again to give him another peck and it serves enough to quiet him down. “A cute seagull.” He says, fixing his previous words. Mark pointedly stares at him but it’s hard to look annoyed when Donghyuck’s grinning at him like that.

“Stop sulking.” Donghyuck commands, leaning down for another peck. He moves away to start peering at the sky again, stroking his chin with his free hand.

“Oh, the cloud over there!”

 

\- 20 -

 

“You’ve come a long way, Mark.” Johnny mentions over his lesson one day, having finished their usual training and sharing his thoughts as they pack the swords away. Mark’s arms are still sore, having done both hand-fighting and duelling because something about how his birthday is dawning just seems to make his parents on edge, putting in extra lessons that only leaves him to meet Donghyuck at night, like some star-crossed lovers.

“Thank you.” Mark preens, with a smile he’s unable to help hide. He has an hour to spare today.

Johnny watches him, giving a small laugh. “You seem happy. Confident?”

Mark fiddles with the metal protector his sword is encased with. “Something like that.”

The older turns to face him fully, leaning against the wall to watch the skip in Mark’s steps as he gathers the weapons to put away. “You think you’ll be able to beat this monster your parents told me about?” His tone is curious and something else Mark can’t place. Johnny can choose to be as open as a piece of paper or as closed off as a locked chest. Today, he’s decided to do a bit of both.

“I have a positive feeling about it.” It’s a half-lie. Mark’s bricking it, but it helps to take his mind off the possibilities.

(Donghyuck’s great at it.)

Johnny lets out something between a scoff and a laugh. Mark thinks nothing of it. “That’s good to hear then.”

Mark hums to show he listened, while shoving the last of the weapons away. As much as he enjoys talking with Johnny and sharing his feelings, Donghyuck’s waiting him in the courtyard and an hour is precious when it’s the only time they can meet up.

“Thank you for your hard work.” He says, picking up his satchel and noticing the black light reflecting off Johnny’s necklace as he does so. “You have a beautiful penchant, Johnny.” He compliments. “Is that meant to be a bird?”

The laugh Johnny lets out is awkward, to say the least. “Oh, yes. Yes, it is.” He moves to cover it. “Thank you. It’s a gift from one of my journeys around the world.”

“It’s stunning.” Mark remarks.

Johnny looks bashful. “I’ll make sure to relay your compliment to the one who made it.”

“You definitely should!” Mark agrees, before noticing the time.

 _Ah,_ Donghyuck’s not going to be happy now.

He moves towards the door. “Sorry but I better get going! You know, lessons and all.” He excuses hastily, too busy to hang around and hear Johnny’s reply, purely focused on meeting Donghyuck and spend their time being teenagers in love. He really hopes the younger has those candies he loves too. “See you tomorrow!”

The older smiles. “See you.” He replies, playing with his necklace with a warm look.

It’s the last thing Mark sees before he’s out the door.

 

\- 1 -

 

Reality is different to what he imagines, and instead of the downward spiral Mark thought he would have had, plagued by expectations and weighed down by potential threats, it’s only a complete hush in his mind. Like a calm before a storm.

And what a storm it will be.

The wind howls outside and even the moon seems scared of the outcome, hidden away by the clouds and letting the land plunge into darkness. It sacrifices its light, leaving Mark to read his book by the dim candles lit on his bedside. He had heard the servants rushing about earlier to prepare for his ceremony tomorrow but it’s quelled by now, everyone fast asleep or on their way too.

Donghyuck clearly isn’t planning on falling into that category however.

There’s a knock on the door and Mark jolts, his book landing on his thighs with a soft thump and the candles flickering in warning.

“Who is it?”

There’s a pause. “Me.” Mark wants to scoff at the answer but it’s easy to recognise when it’s the same voice singing him to sleep each time he's had a restless night.

He pads towards the door, slowly opening it up to spot Donghyuck still in his daywear, the same, usual tunic he wears with dirt scattered here and there. There’s a funny look on his face and Mark’s first response —a habit he picked up, is to joke. “I’m not letting you cuddle me dressed like that, I’ll have you know.”

The smile he’s trying for falls flat when Donghyuck doesn’t laugh, pushing past him and into his bedroom with an almost inaudible growl. “Do you _know_ what day it is?”

Mark’s not dumb. But he sure likes to play it.

“Yes, and?”

“ _And_?” Donghyuck’s loud but he presses his lips, like he’s finally remembering for the first time how to be polite to anyone who’s not him or Johnny.  It’s quieter when he speaks again. “How are you like this? Like…like,” He gestures around nothing. “tomorrow is just another day.” He runs through his hair, tensed. “Like there isn’t a beast or enemy somewhere looking to bring you down.”

“I’ll be fine.” His voice wobbles a little.

Donghyuck hears it easily, and snorts. “Who are you trying to convince?”

“I mean it, Donghyuck.”

“The ceremony too! You’re just going to stand there in front of thousands of people to give a speech? A useless speech, may I add by the way.”

“My parents said it’s tradition.”

“Parents. You still call them that? You’re still listening to them? After what they done?” He grips the edge of the bed stand, a hardened look captured by the candles. “I can’t believe you’re letting them dictate you around just because of some omen.”

“They gave me this palace, Donghyuck. Gave me food and knowledge too, if you’ve forgotten.”

The younger rolls his eyes. “Yes, and you gave your happiness in return.”

“What do you mean? I’m _happy_.” Mark presses, following to where Donghyuck stands. “I have everything, Donghyuck.”

The younger frowns. “You might have everything in this golden cage of yours; jewels, food and any source of comfort you desire, but at the end of the day Mark, it’s _still_ a cage.”

“Well, that’s fine by me.” With his vacillating tone, it’s hard to convince himself, let alone Donghyuck.

He looks at Mark, not an ounce of him believing the words that leave the prince’s mouth. “ _Why_ are you trying to lie to me?”

“I’m not.”

Donghyuck says nothing but it’s low when he does. “Who do you think I am?” He walks closer and he’s shorter, an inch or two than Mark but with the way he’s marching up to him, it feels scarier than any beasts he has ever witnessed.

Mark takes a step back, more and more till he feels the wall behind him, cornered.

“I’m not some idiot you can talk to with your little facade on,” The boy gets close, close enough for Mark to feel his breath, see him tremor with rage and stare into his eyes that once shone of delight but now holds nothing but fury. “So you better take it off when you speak to me, Mark Lee.”

And how beautiful fury is in its true form.

And how he _breaks_.

“You’re right.” He breaks not into shards, but into dust. 

Mark knows he needs to carry himself through, with dignity and poise and charisma and so many other words his mentors taught him, but Mark’s carried enough now. He’s done enough. Done, done, so _fucking_ done. He’s drained. Maybe Donghyuck took his will to pretend, maybe Mark’s fire finally died out from pretending all these years but it’s a plea how he nods and clutches Donghyuck’s wrist, finds the tremble in his hands later. “I'm tired, Donghyuck.” It’s choked out. “I’m so tired.”

Warmth envelopes him straightaway and it’s tight but not suffocating, not in the way his parents are with their hidden meanings and cold good nights. “What will I do with you?” It’s murmured to the side of his head, anger gone in a snap.

Mark remembers the familiarity of it and maybe Donghyuck didn’t hear it back then but it’s clear this time when he answers. “Don’t let me go.” He says, hugging Donghyuck back. “ _Please_ don’t let me go.”

Donghyuck moves to plant a soft kiss on his lips, gaze ever so fond. “You’re stupid if you think I’ll ever do that.” He presses another one and it’s harder, like he’s forging the word on the skin of his lips and on the flesh of his tongue, till it never leaves his mind. The younger makes a whimper when Mark gives back just as eager, grazes his tongue across his lips, licking into the roof of his mouth like he’s made a home inside and reminding him it’s not just Donghyuck who’ll never let go.

They pull away when it’s a necessity, and Donghyuck examines him, holds his finger up to caress the redness of his own lips. “I wanted to be clear where you stood. Before I asked.” He says cryptically, after their heavy breaths descends into quiescence and they’re left with more love and none the closer to figuring out whether their happy ending will come true. “Do you trust me, Mark?”

His answer is quick, effortless. “Of course.”

Donghyuck steels himself. “ _Then come with me.”_

He clutches Mark’s shoulders, fire in his eyes Mark cannot control. “Run away with me.” He lets go to walk towards the table, grabbing the box where he knows Mark keeps his gold coins. “This should do us fine till we make the next town over. I know someone there.” He clutches the box. “We can let this go Mark. We can be alive and free.”

It’s tempting, but Mark finds it harrowing to leave all this behind, to let go without a fight. “You know I can’t, Donghyuck.” The younger’s shoulders sag. “I have an obligation.”

“You don’t.” Donghyuck answers back easily. “You live with someone hammering you down each day, and your own parents eye you like the next trophy in their cabinet.” He moves back to stand in front of Mark. “You have no obligation to people who don’t even treat you like a human.”

“What about the villagers?”

“There are another towns nearby.” Donghyuck insists. “Why is it you that has to rule the kingdom? You don’t even want to!”

“I’m a prince, Donghyuck.”

“A prince who wants to become a songwriter instead.” Mark doesn’t even know how Donghyuck knows when he’s never told him but he guesses it’s easy for anyone that cared to spot the loose sheets of papers with lyrics written on them, musical instruments hidden in the corner of his closet.

But it’s a meek dream Mark’s already given up on. “There’s no choice, I have to accept my fate.”

“That’s not fate.” Donghyuck hisses. “And if it was, would you still accept it then when you have to marry another prince or princess from the regions around us?” It’s a low move to bring it up, and Donghyuck knows it too. “Will you give me up?”

Mark shoves him, for asking a question they both know the answer to. “You know I’ll never.”

Donghyuck shoves him back. “You say that now but is it really possible when they find out how the soon to be king’s lover is an orphaned boy that has yet to learn how to do basic maths.” He barks, flinging the box on Mark’s bed and folding his arms.

“Anything is possible once I complete this Donghyuck.”

Too tired to fight anymore, the boy slumps on the bed, exhausted. He rubs his eyes, stubborn not to let his tears fall. It’s a while before he echoes his thought, tone unbearably shattered. “How do I know that though?”

Mark crouches opposite him and places his hand on top of Donghyuck’s knee, rubbing it with comfort. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“It might be okay.” Donghyuck laughs, placing his own hand on top of his . “Or it might not.” There’s a shake, both in the younger’s posture and his voice. He peers down with pleading eyes. “What if you die, Mark? What will I do then?”

He inches to hug Donghyuck but finds rejection when the younger flinches away. “Don’t think about it.” Mark pleads. “Please.”

“How can I not?” The unshed tears that well up in Donghyuck’s eyes break his heart but it’s his voice that feels like someone gripped his soul and gave it a wrenching twist. His words are broken, like it took him to claw them out and drop them down into tiny pieces. His breath shudders. “I can’t bear to die twice, Mark.”

How quiet he says it, like he knew the prince didn’t need a punch to his stomach or an arrow to his heart. Just a tiny pin to his pulse and down he crumbles, scrambling to hold Donghyuck together. Like if he doesn’t do it sooner, the younger will crack.

“I can’t, I fucking can’t.” He says, with clarity, clutching Mark’s back with a vice grip.

The prince tries, a final time. “How about Johnny? Are you saying you’ll be happy, leaving him?”

He feels the younger’s head shaking, his grip even tighter. “I wouldn't be happy.” There’s a haste. “But it’ll be unrivalled to how I would feel if I lose you instead.”

A picture might speak a thousand words, yet it only takes a carefully crafted sentence to paint an image more colourful than anything corporeal could hold.

Mark reflects to what life would be like if he defeats the monster, how the kingdom would hail him a hero like the prophecy foretold, how he’ll finally earn his parents’ respect and how the lands around him will thrive under his care. But then he sees Donghyuck hidden away in the shadows, his parents ashamed, and the subsequent princess he finds holding his arm, unfamiliar. And he’s sad, he’s still sad.

The answer’s made, (maybe it was made before Donghyuck had even asked him) and Mark only prays whoever this monster is will show mercy on his parents. “Let's run then.” He announces.

The wind howls in the distance like an applause but Mark’s too caught up in the other, doesn’t even notice the candles blown away, the only light being the one from the moon who finally decides to make its appearance.

Donghyuck blinks up to stare at Mark, dazed. “Truly? You’re willing to run away? With me? Leave everyone behind?”

Revitalised, no sun but Mark’s revitalised.

He places a soft kiss on Donghyuck’s lips. “For you, I would.”

 

\- 0 -

 

It almost seems too easy to escape.

Maybe that’s why there’s no surprise when he sees Johnny guarding by the gate, who looks startled at the sight of the two with satchels stuffed full and flightiness in both of their movements. _But it’s Johnny_ —the person who first spoke to Mark with a gentleness that his parents themselves were never able to do, the person who tended his wounds and clapped his back at every victory and the person who taught him how to be human again. So Mark finds himself relaxing, opening his mouth to explain, to plea. Because Johnny wouldn’t let him down.

It closes shut however when the older takes his sword out, the silver gleaming and Donghyuck gasping behind him.

Mark moves his hand and finds solace in the way Donghyuck holds it. “What are you doing, Johnny?”

The older uses his sword as a stick, pointing at them with it. “I could ask you the same question.” He glares particularly at Donghyuck. “Are you really letting yourself fail your own realm for one boy.”

“ _Johnny_.” Donghyuck sounds hurt.

“Go back to your room, Donghyuck.” Johnny orders, wielding his sword into position. His stance is poised, and Mark wonders how he can just switch his emotions off, how he can stand to see the wounded look in the eyes of the boy he raised himself. 

“What are you doing?” Donghyuck bellows, pushing in front of Mark. “Have you forgotten the last eighteen years?” It comes out distressed. “Did it mean nothing?”

“Stay out of this.” It’s cold and nothing like how the older speaks to Donghyuck. “Mark, listen to me. You need to fulfil the prophecy, you need to go back.” It sounds urgent. Mark’s not going to be fooled. For a person who can forget someone so easily can be the same person that manipulates him without a second thought.

“Why? What has anyone ever done for me?” Mark snarls.

“You are being selfish.” _Selfish_. Mark has done _everything_ his parents done only to be called selfish by the one other person he thought he could count on.

“It is about time I started to.” He snaps.

Johnny looks surprised, like he didn’t expect the fire to still burn within Mark. “Do you really think you are making a good decision here?” He says with indignation, huffing a vacant laugh. “It was my fault, for thinking he wouldn't be trouble.” Directs it to Donghyuck like he’s not even there. Mark’s blood boil. “But I didn’t expect _you_ to fall for his trap too.”

He steps closer just to be stopped by Donghyuck’s hand, sweaty and still in his. Holding it like it’s the only thing keeping him from dropping. Mark gives Johnny a dirty look instead. “How dare you talk to him like that. He’s done nothing wrong, he’s just a boy, Johnny.”

The words mum Johnny for a second. “A boy…” He shakes his head quickly though, getting rid of whatever dilemma is in his head. “I can’t believe this.” Johnny splutters after. “Open your eyes, Mark. You’re going to leave this kingdom to perish. Have you got no shame?” He spits out the end of his sentence, anger too much to let his diction function properly.

“Perhaps I would have cared once.” Mark says truthfully but his tone turns sharp. “When I thought happiness came from others’ validation and everything I had to do would be for the benefit of my people. When I thought my own parents simply wanted the best for me only to realise they care nothing more than their own wealth. That they would accuse their own brothers and sisters for it. _Familia ante omnia?_ Do you know what that means?”

Johnny stays silent.

“It means family over all, the saying this kingdom holds and what a load of lies that turned out to be. You know they’re planning a war? With the northern kingdom? My father’s own brother?”

Johnny doesn’t seem alarmed, more so panic-stricken.

Mark fumes. “So maybe I’m selfish. But maybe I need to be, because I am sick of being sad and I am sick of agreeing.” He squares up. “I am making my own damn decision now.”

Donghyuck rests his head on Mark’s back and they both wait for a response.

“You really think you can get past me then?” Johnny mutters, lifting his sword once more to direct at Mark’s lack of it. “You don’t possess any weapon.”

He lets go of Donghyuck’s hand to fists them by his side, cracking his neck to give a wry smile. “I don’t need a weapon, Johnny.” He steps closer and ignores how Donghyuck tenses up behind him. “Not when you raised me to become one.” He levels him and hopes the words sting.

Johnny clutches his sword tightly and Mark hears the tree rustling behind them like spectators ready to watch the fight go down, one with a sword and another with a will to live and a boy he has to return to. The clouds seem to disappear as if the moon decided to be curious, wanting to watch the scene unfold vividly, with how bright it’s shining its light on them. Enough to see how sad and miserable Johnny looks despite the words he roared out.

3,

There’s no point dwelling in it however. He only prays Donghyuck would least be able to escape should the end become bitter.

2,

Mark prepares himself, takes a steady breath.

1,

And waits for the first impact.

Waits.

But it never leaves.

There’s a clutter as the sword drops to the ground and Mark zooms in to the way Johnny puts both his hands up, a clear pose of surrender. Donghyuck takes a sharp intake and they’re both left dawdling about, unsure of what just happened and what to make of it. It feels a little anti-climactic but the apprehension doesn’t leave just yet. Fights might not have taken place but it’s hard to ignore the exchange of vicious words thrown around.

“Leave before I change my mind.” Johnny whispers, numbly. His hands steadily curl.

Donghyuck nudges Mark but he finds his feet unable to move, too confused by the debacle and too curious to leave without getting a proper answer.

Johnny doesn’t say anything. Simply repeats, more threateningly. “ _Leave._ ”

It’s a hard push from behind that has Mark stumbling forward, Donghyuck looking at him with round eyes but clearly coherent enough to grab their satchels and move his feet. “Go, Mark. What are you waiting for?” It takes a little more of Donghyuck shoving him for the two to run past Johnny, only leaving a rush of breeze in their trail.

He looks back one more time however, a few feet away, unwillingly to leave without asking.

“Why?” It’s simple enough.

Donghyuck’s tugging on his arm, begging the older to simply let it go. “Mark, don’t do this now—”

Johnny’s voice cuts through. “You’re a kid. You’re not a hero, you’re just a kid.” He answers, back still on them. Face unable to look at Mark or Donghyuck anymore, perhaps too betrayed by their decision. “And stopping you would do nothing but get Donghyuck locked away.” His heart’s still unable to hide the care he has for the boy and he sighs deeply. It travels through. “It was your decision to make and you made it firmly. I can’t do anything.”

Mark continues staring at Johnny, uneased. There’s more to it. He looks subdued, slumped shoulders and clenched fists, looks defeated without even a proper battle. Like he knew it would happen and there was nothing that would have changed Mark’s mind. Despite his inner turmoil, there’s a step on his shoe that has him looking towards Donghyuck instead, his hand ready for Mark to take.

“Come on, we need to go.” Donghyuck urges, a faint glow on his face. “Hold my hand, and I’ll lead the way.”

Mark gives one last look to the palace behind him, ancient yet regal. Standing tall even when their hero decided to quit and leave it defenceless. But turning around reminds him of why he’s here, to find his happiness with a boy whose golden skin still shimmers even when the only light comes from the one above. His tunic that hugs his frame, never the perfect white colour it used to embodied, more creamy, more _ivory_. How simple. How natural it is to grab on to Donghyuck’s hand and never let go.

The boy starts to run and he follows him, watches how Donghyuck lets the moonlight torrent down in streams and bleed crimson in his hair.

Mark doesn’t glance back.

 

 

(And he misses the way Johnny turns around with a resigned gaze, watching the two run into the abyss the forest brings. Misses the way he looks up to the sky—

The way he utters, recognition finally dawning on him.

“Here I was, thinking the monster was the one inside you.”

He picks up his sword, smiling emptily. “Who knew it would be the boy that took your heart and kept it all for himself.”)

 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  thank you for reading! im on    
>  [twt](https://www.twitter.com/heavenleehyuck)   
>  and    
>  [ cc ](https://curiouscat.me/heavenleehyuck)   
>  ! my cc's abandoned lol, but feel free to ask qns tho! or your thoughts about it!!   
> 
> 
> **
>   * **it can be a little obscure but the monster the omen was warning about is donghyuck**
>   * **i did intend this to be kind of confusing? because i didn't want to have a solid reason for each event. it's what you guys make of it! you can argue with me how you see the monsters being his parents, what donghyuck did was wrong, etc.!**
>   * **the ruby, ivory and gold reference are subtle, really subtle :') you might have to read back to find it but the last few paragraphs should join it together!**
> ** 

> 
>   
> 


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